


A Prologue

by OriginalWitchery (TheWitchBoy)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16566272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWitchBoy/pseuds/OriginalWitchery
Summary: A father tells his son a fairy tale.





	A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly just wanted to be able to link this so I could show a people or two.

"Once upon a time, a long time before ours, there was a King and Queen. They were kind rulers, good and just and fair to all.” 

The little boy wriggled, settling in for the story. 

Emil, his father, was neither very wealthy, nor very poor. He was a merchant who had enough wealth to live comfortably, though his occupation often took him from his family for weeks into months. 

His wife had passed away, but he had three children, two of them daughters and his youngest a son. While he loved all of his children, it is true that Emil favoured his youngest. 

Emil’s young son – the same wriggling boy – was always well-tempered, kind, and cared less for material things or social status, the child was also very beautiful in ways that his sisters were quietly envious of. The child didn’t care for his looks, however; he cared most for books, both of stories and of obscure information. 

The boy’s name was James, and he was the apple of Emil’s eye. 

James’ favourite thing was the Story. The one he kept next to his bed and continuously asked his father to read to him. The one he was reading that very night, the night before which Emil would have to leave on a long trip. 

“The King and Queen had all they could possibly want, and a people that adored them. Only one thing was missing from their life, one thing which would make it complete." 

"A baby!" 

"That's right," Emil smiled at the little boy curled into his side. "They wanted very badly to have a child. An heir to pass on their love, knowledge, and kingdom to. They tried for years and years to have a child, but it seemed as though they would not be able to have a child of their own blood." 

The little boy put both his hands on his face and gave a theatrical gasp. "Go on, Papa. What happened next?" 

"You know what happens next, you little gremlin. An unexpected guest visited the castle. This guest told the King and Queen that she was a mighty, ancient Enchantress, interested only in good. She was also very beautiful. The Enchantress said to the King and Queen, 'I find it unjust that kind and good rulers do not have an heir to share their lives with.' 

"She offered the King and Queen a bargain. An heir for a favour. But there was a catch. She would not tell them what the favour was until it came time to claim it. 

"The King and Queen were desperate, however, and saw this as their only chance. They asked three questions, first. 'Will you take our kingdom?' the King and Queen asked." 

"'No!'" 

"That's right,” Emil chuckled. “'No,' the Enchantress said. 'Will you take our lives?' the King and Queens asked." 

"'No!'" 

"And the final question: 'Will you take our child?'" 

"'No!'" 

"Very good. The Enchantress answered 'no' to each question, which satisfied the King and Queen. They agreed to her terms and begged of her the magical aid she offered. 

"The Enchantress cast a spell over the Queen, one of vitality and felicitations, and told her that the next time she took to her wedding bed, a child would be born of the pure and perfect joining of souls, hearts, and bodies." 

"Eww!" 

Emil laughed, "Oh, James, you know this story by heart. How is it you respond to the same things the same way, every time?" 

"It's new every time, Papa. All good stories are." 

"Perhaps. Well. The Enchantress left shortly after. The night fell and the King and Queen retired together. Of course, as it is with these things, they could not immediately know if the Queen's womb bore them the heir they so badly wished for. But time did pass, and as it passed the Queen's belly swelled with the promised life. 

"The King and Queen rejoiced. A royal nursery was immediately built. The confidence of the rulers grew, day by day, in the surety that the Enchantress's magic had served them, and would serve them through the child's healthy birth. 

"The Enchantress returned one day. She announced, as she entered the palace unopposed, that the Queen would give birth that day. 'It is too soon,' the Queen said. 'Not enough time has passed,' the King said. 'There have been no signs,' the midwife said. 

"'It will be today,' the Enchantress said. Of course, she was right. Under the watchful gaze of the Enchantress, the Queen gave birth that very evening, but she gave birth to not one child, but two. The first was a boy, perfectly formed with hair of spun gold and wide, intelligent eyes. The second was a girl, smaller and more sickly, with very pale hair and a feeble cry. 

"The girl, it is said, did not survive the night. The King and Queen were heartbroken from their loss, but consoled themselves with the beautiful boy that they had been blessed with. They looked to thank the Enchantress for their surviving child's healthy delivery, but found that she had once more left. There was no offense taken, however, as the magic folk were strange and not altogether understood by those outside the arcane communities. It should be remembered, however, that the King and Queen did make the effort to thank her, as it is only appropriate to honor those who have given you a great gift." 

"Like when I say 'thank you' for a new book," the little boy cut in. 

"Exactly like that, my boy," he ruffled the child's hair. "Now. Even when very small, the child was still the most regal and princely child you ever did see. He had a good heart and was very intelligent, everything you could want in an heir. 

"But all was not well. While the Prince was still very young, the King, in his deep and abiding grief over the loss of his daughter, fell ill. Bit by bit, his health failed him, until he was but a shell of a man. And then he passed." 

James snuggled a bit closer to his father. "Poor Mr. King." 

"Yes, and his poor family. He passed in the night and his funeral was in the next few days. The Prince, at four or so years of age, took part in the King's funeral procession. He was so brave and strong, and the people loved him for it, even as they mourned their King. 

"After the King died, the Queen could no longer bear to look upon her son and sent him away to tutors and nurses, who took care of him and saw after him in her place. She was far too bereaved, after the passing of her husband, to look into the Prince's face, for he reminded her too much of the King. 

"The Prince grew hard and cold, bitter in his remembrance of a time when his mother, the Queen, saw after him personally. Bitter at the loss of his father. Bitter at the constant cycle of new tutors and nurses. The good heart inside him was slowly turned to black ice, harder than stone and less forgiving than thorns. 

"On the other hand, the Queen healed slowly, and would have come to a place where she could have brought her son back to her side, but for a brewing war on the horizon. As the Queen, she felt it was her duty to personally see her people through the conflict and was too often away to truly make peace with her son, or bring him back to her side. 

"On a very dark, very cold, very storm-torn night, when the Prince was no more than twelve or so, the Queen had been gone weeks and the Prince was entertaining, as was his new duty, in the place of his mother. He entertained royals and merchants, keeping the peace as well as he was able in the expanse of lonesome palace. That night was special, as it heralded the Prince’s nameday and the Queen had promised to be back from the front lines, where she often went to confer with her generals. 

"But, alas, the Queen had died, days before, and the Prince was met not with his mother, but with a messenger in a deep, arcane cloak of purple velvet, soaked by the rain. 'The Queen is dead, Prince,' the messenger said." 

James gasped. Emil smiled, but continued with the story. 

"The Prince, however, was unperturbed. He took the message and bid the messenger to leave. But, the messenger did not. 'The Queen is dead,' she repeated, 'And her debt falls on you.' 

"The Prince, full of offense, bid the guards come and escort the messenger away. He was the sole heir of the King and Queen, and would not be spoken to in such a way. Of course, his offense bred offense in the messenger, and, unfortunately for the Prince, the messenger was truly the Enchantress. 'I have come to claim my promised favour, Prince,' she told him. 'You will have nothing from me,' the Prince said in return. 

"The Enchantress's rage was high when she spoke, again. 'Your heart is black and cold, you are pitiless and petty. The King and Queen moved the world to bring you into it, but here you stand, thankless for it. You are unlovable, for all the love they gave you.' It was cruel, and not necessarily true, but the Enchantress was in a rage, and in her rage she saw only the way things were from her own point of view. 

"For the slights the Prince dealt her, the Enchantress cursed him and all that was his. His palace, his servants, his friends, his very visage. She made it all grotesque and beastly, seeking to separate the Prince and his kingdom from the rest of the world. Then, to keep out the world and any who might seek to break the curse, the Enchantress loosed a great Snake to watch the boundaries of the palace grounds. 

"Because the Enchantress did nothing by halves, the kingdom was then removed from the memory of the world, the land around the palace taken by surrounding countries and kingdoms, and the palace became closed off. It was nearly impossible to so much as stumble upon, and would remain so as long as the Enchantress's magic held strong," he closed the book and smiled down at James. "That is why it is always best to be kind and polite. You never know what secrets a face hides. You never know what reaction a slight may get you." 

"If the Prince was nice, would he have been cursed?" 

"No, I don't think he would have," he set the book down on the bedside table and stood. "Come now, let's tuck you in, James." 

The little boy scurried for the top of the bed, wriggling himself under the covers before his father could pull them back. "Goodnight, Papa," he chirped. "Be safe, tomorrow. And be home soon, please. You tell the story better than I do, after all." 

"I'll bring you a new story." 

"Okay, but I still want you to read my story again, please." 

He chuckled, "Alright, James. Of course. I'll read you your story again, when I get back from my trip." 

And he did. He always did. Even as his son grew, blossoming into a young man. 

Of course, there was no necessity for it, when James was a young man, but it amused the both of them to sit together, on the edge of James’s bed, and revisit the nights of his childhood, where Emil would read to him before bidding him goodnight. 


End file.
